


"Prove It"

by overcastskeleton



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: AFAB!reader, F/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcastskeleton/pseuds/overcastskeleton
Summary: Boba's been busy lately...
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader, Boba Fett/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	"Prove It"

**Author's Note:**

> Boba fucks.

Boba’s sitting on the throne when you enter the hall. He’s a perfect picture of power and nonchalance, lounging against the seat with his legs spread wide. His helmet is off, perched on the stone armrest as he nurses a cup of glowing spotchka, yet even without it he is no less imposing. His sharp eyes sweep the room, chin tilted up as if daring the shadows to challenge him. 

The room is empty except for him, uncharacteristically devoid of the usual suspects; other crime lords and petitioning citizens who usually mill around drinking and chatting until they’re satisfied. A rare moment of tranquility carved into the chaotic days and violent nights of Tatooine. The late light of the twin suns filters through the windows, stretching the inky black of your shadow long behind you, like the train of your gown. 

Boba’s lips spread into a sly smile as he watches you approach him. He offers you a hand to help you ascend the stairs, and you take it. 

When you greet him, your voice has a slightly clipped edge. “Boba.”

He smirks, pulling you to stand between his legs. He says your name with the same intonation as your lackluster greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He leans back again, shooting a playful smile in your direction. 

You look down at him, resting a hand on your hip. “I’ve come to schedule an audience with you. Since it’s apparently the only way to get your attention nowadays.” 

It was true, between endless meetings with the other factions, and the various duties that come with a successful coup, Boba had been busy. He was constantly putting out fires. So occupied appeasing the volatile crime lords with parties, booze and promises that he barely had time to think about anything else. Including you.

“Oh?” Boba tilts his head to the side. “An audience for what?” 

You gather up your skirts and straddle him. “I miss you,” you mumble, playing with his hand. 

You’ve always loved his hands. His long, calloused digits that dwarf yours significantly. His fingertips are rough, but they’ve always ever seemed to greet you with softness. Strange how a man so ragged can be so gentle at the same time, even if he didn’t always show it. 

“I don’t know why. I haven’t gone anywhere,” Boba teases, brushing your chin with his knuckle. 

“But you haven’t touched me in  _ forever _ .” 

“Forever? I am touching you now,” he says and you huff, rolling your eyes. “I’m a busy man,  _ ca’tra _ . I’ve got an empire to run.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and sets the cup down. 

You bring his hands to your chest, a pout adorning your lips. “Too busy for me?” You whisper, raising your eyebrows. 

Boba squeezes your breast, raking his thumb over your pert nipple. It hardens, scraping uncomfortably against the thin material of your gown. His dark eyes sharpen, trailing over your fluttering eyelashes and parted lips, taking in all of your reactions. You moan, sinking further onto his waist. His belt buckle presses cold and hard against your cunt. The sensation makes your clit throb, and you grind down onto the metal, a breathless cry bubbling from your throat.

“No, not for you.” One of his hands leaves your breast to cup your jaw, the other sweeps the strap of your dress aside for more access to your body. “But unfortunately, not everyone prioritizes you like I do.” He pinches your hardened nipple with more force and you sigh. 

“I don’t feel like a priority.” You lean into his touch. “Feel like a nuisance.” 

“ _ You _ are my biggest priority.” Boba assures you, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

Your tongue darts out to flick over his finger, tasting the hint of worn leather and sweat on his skin. “Then prove it.” You nip at the pad of his thumb, trying to get a rise out of him. “Fuck me.” 

He just shakes his head, face as unreadable as the helm he usually wears. “I have a meeting with the others soon. I don’t have enough time.” 

You whine in frustration, fingers balling into fists against your thighs. “Come  _ on _ .” You sound bratty and desperate, but you don’t care. You’re sick and tired of not holding his attention for long. Tired of the teasing touches and lingering gazes that amount to nothing but heavy petting and quick kisses. You want more. You want  _ him _ . 

Boba tuts under his breath, squeezing your jaw gently so you look at him. “I don’t have enough time for  _ that _ .” His hand trails from your breast, down your stomach, and comes to rest between your thighs. “But I can do something to ease your doubt.” He presses his thumb to your clothed clit and you suck in a breath. “If that’s what you want?” 

You nod, exhaling sharply when his thumb rubs a tight circle against the bundle of nerves. You rock your hips against his hand, eyelids slipping shut at the gentle pressure. It’s embarrassing how just a few touches from him can reduce you to a quivering mess, but you’re touch starved and aroused and don’t have the presence of mind to really think about it. 

Besides, Boba eats it up, watching your wanton movements with a hungry grin on his face. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw and you melt into his body. His answering chuckle goes straight to your clit, dampening your already soaked panties and you gasp. 

“Look at you, all worked up,” he teases, nipping at your pulse. “Such a mess.” 

“It’s your fault,” you groan pitifully, skin hot and cunt wanting. “I missed your touch. My hands don’t feel the same.” 

Boba grips your knee, prompting you to spread your legs further until they press against the arms of his throne. “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel neglected.” His nose skates the curve of your neck, his breath raising goosebumps as he whispers. “Lift your skirt for me.”

You tug at the fabric so harshly you might’ve ripped it in your haste if Boba hadn’t helped you. His hand rests hot and heavy on your thigh, fingers skating up and over the expanse of it. You bite your bottom lip when his touch finally meets your cunt, pushing the thin fabric of your underwear to the side. 

Boba groans against your collarbone, fingers gliding through the hot evidence of your arousal. He plays with it, spreading the slick over your folds, and you curse under your breath, arching into his touch. “If I didn’t have to play dress-up soon, I’d take my time. Bury my tongue inside of you right here and tell you how sorry I am.” His finger presses bluntly against your entrance. “This will have to do for now.”

Your hands fly to his shoulder, wrapping around the pads of his armor as he slides a thick finger inside of you. You weren’t just stroking his ego when you said your hands did not feel the same. His fingers filled you better, and you’d missed the stretch of them, the fire left in the wake of each push against your walls. 

“Is this how you wanted to be touched?” Boba asks, and a second digit joins the first, curling slightly inside of you. 

“Yes.” Your words are a breathless whine. “Please, don’t stop.” 

He wraps his free arm around your waist, gripping your ass to pull you down onto his fingers as they fuck you open. They reach a depth inside of you that you could never have touched on your own, pressing insistently against that fragile spot nestled within you. 

Moan after moan tumbles from your lips, echoing off the walls of the empty throne room. Boba makes no move to silence you, instead he moves with a fervor, trying to coax more broken sobs of his name from the back of your throat. He kisses the swell of your breast, his mouth closing warm and wet around your nipple. His teeth sink into the bud and his tongue is quick to follow, soothing the harsh sting away. 

Your walls clamp around his fingers, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “ _ B-Boba _ .” You cry when he pulls his hand back to tease a third finger against your entrance. 

He hums against your skin. “Take one more for me. You can do it,” he whispers softly, trailing soothing kisses along the valley of your breasts.

Your jaw falls slack as he works a third finger into you. You’re full, achingly so, and completely at his mercy as his digits drill into you. It’s sticky, it’s hot and you don’t want any of it to stop. Your arousal drips down your thighs, coating his wrist and aiding his movements. 

The sensation is almost overwhelming. Fire swells in your core, and each stroke of his fingers chips away at your sanity, driving you higher and higher. Your orgasm lingers on the edge of your mind. You can almost taste it on the back of your tongue, flinty sparks of lightning, heady and intoxicating. You roll your hips forward, chasing it down. 

“There you go. Hungry for it aren’t you? So greedy,  _ ner ca’tra _ ,” Boba praises, and you whine. “Yeah, you gonna come all over my fingers?” 

“Please.” Your hand snakes down to rub against your clit. 

“ _ Kriff _ , you feel amazing,” he murmurs. “Once I get you all to myself, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget how my cock feels inside of you.” His gruff promise is the tipping point, the allure of it shoves you over the edge.

You shudder above him, falling to pieces. Tumbling headlong into the violent thrill that twists out from deep inside of you. Your whole world narrows down to a pin, and Boba is the center of it. He works you through the throes of passion, lips tucking filthy promises into your skin, fingers still moving inside of you relentlessly. He drinks it all in, every wrack and shake of your body, every whimper, sob and desperate plea of his name. Swears he’ll never grow tired of the way you look when you give yourself over to absolute pleasure. 

Eventually the slide of his fingers within you is too much, and you push his hand away from your oversensitive cunt with a whine. Your chest heaves, breathing shallow as your hooded eyes flit to his sharp ones. 

Boba regards with you a crooked grin. “Have I proved myself?” He asks, lifting his fingers to his lips. They shine with your arousal, and he holds your gaze with a wink as he cleans them with his tongue. 

“Yes.” 

You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own. Your lips clash in a messy dance, hungrily devouring each other. Your tongue licks into his mouth and you moan as you catch the faintest hints of yourself. Boba pulls you to him, molding your body to his while his hands paw at you, pinching and squeezing your skin. He rocks his hips into your thigh, and there’s no mistaking the outline of his hard cock in his trousers. 

It makes your mouth water, and you’re reaching for his belt when a throat clears somewhere behind you. Boba goes rigid, tucking your disheveled form into his side and reaching for the blaster on the ridge beside him in one fluid motion. He looks over your shoulder, releasing his breath when he sees only Fennec standing at the entrance of the room. 

“They’re here,” she says curtly. “I’ll keep them busy until you’re done with your...meeting.” 

Your skin grows hot at the amused edge in her tone, but Boba dismisses her with a nonchalant “be there in a moment.” 

He squeezes your hip once Fennec’s light steps ascend the stairs, and you lift your head to find him smirking at you. Boba fixes your dress and kisses your forehead. “Duty calls.” 

You run your fingers over his crotch. “I’ll be in our chambers.” You lean forward, brushing your lips over his ear. “Waiting for you to fuck me so hard I’ll never forget how your cock feels inside of me.” You parrot his words, rubbing at his clothed erection.

“Good.” Boba murmurs, his voice strained. “Touch yourself and think of me. I want you to stay nice and ready for me.” He pats your ass. 

“Don’t keep me waiting long.” You drag your lips against his jaw and stand. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve still got a few things left to prove.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr for more: bobaandthefetts


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